


A Finely Spun Lie

by Nantai



Series: The Network [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Closeted Character, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Home for Christmas, It's Mycroft of course, M/M, Mycroft Feels, shenanigans ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 01:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20106664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nantai/pseuds/Nantai
Summary: Mycroft is home for Christmas and his mother interrogates him on his love life, like every year. But this time it's different. This time Mycroft does have someone to talk about - if only he was out to his parents...





	A Finely Spun Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Cleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/gifts).

> This drabble is a gift to [Petra](https://twitter.com/PetraStedman) on twitter because her enthusiasm made my day and I got hit by inspiration. [ReynardinePotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReynardinePotter) continues to be my fabulous alpha and beta reader! Enjoy!

**24th December**

"You're soo bo-oring!" Sherlock complained and left the kitchen in a huff. Sadly that move left Marie Louise Holmes completely free to interrogate a suffering Mycroft who was currently trying to extricate his laptop from under her cooking utensils.

"Tell me about your life, Myke," his mother said with a broad smile, turning to clean the lettuce at the sink. "Anybody new in it? Or have you finally adopted a cat? You always wanted a cat when you were younger."

Mycroft sighed heavily and contemplated what to say. To put it kindly his sexuality was one of the most closely kept secrets he had, right next to the code for the nuclear missiles of several countries. To put it figuratively, he was so deeply in the closet that he had found Narnia. To be completely honest Mycroft would never be comfortable talking about his attraction to others. (It annoyed Greg to no end, but he had given up asking about it after Mycroft vanished on a mission in Russia for nearly three months directly after their last argument. Greg still wasn't happy but for now he would be quiet.)

But on the other hand, Mycroft very much enjoyed his relationship with Greg and would indeed like to tell his mother about it. For all her failings she still had been the one to encourage him to pursue his dreams, especially his career, even though he looked nothing like James Bond.

"There is someone," Mycroft allowed after a long time spent in thought. "A Detective Inspector I met last Christmas."

"During that grisly murder investigation that kept you from coming home?" Marie asked, a slight frown on her face speaking of her puzzlement. "Tell me more about them!”

Mycroft made an executive decision and hoped Greg could forgive him. “She’s brilliant, quick-witted and sharp-tongued. M personally offered her a job at MI6. Gregoria declined.”

“Gregoria?” Marie asked, her eyebrows shooting up for the fraction of a second, marking real surprise. “That’s quite the unusual name.”

“You weren’t the only parents intent to make their children the target of mockery,” Mycroft bristled as he always did when the topic came up. “And she insists on being called Greg.”

Marie tutted. “That’s no name for a lady! Or is she no lady?”

Mycroft nearly laughed at that question. “Oh, she’s quite the lady. She doesn’t take shit from anyone though.”

“I’m glad you finally found someone,” Marie said with a content smile, turning back to cut the lettuce. “But don’t tell your father, I do not intend to lose the bet.”

“A bet?” Mycroft asked incredulously. “On my personal life?”

Marie shrugged and sent him an apologetic smile. “Not quite. Your father and I were betting on which of you boys would find someone worthy of your love first. I said Sherlock, Charles said it’d be you. It seems now that he was right.”

Mycroft scoffed, only marginally mollified. “And what were the stakes?”

But before his mother could answer, his father entered the kitchen obviously having forgotten to wear gloves while setting up the Christmas tree, if the way he was scratching at his hands was anything to go by. “The Christmas tree is now standing. And what were you two doing in here?”

“Just talking,” Marie said with a voice she was apparently hoping sounded casual.

“Mother was just telling me about your bet concerning mine and Sherlock’s love lives,” Mycroft said with a pleasant smile, enjoying the exasperated look his mother shot him all too much. “I just asked what the price would be for the winner.”

Charles raised an eyebrow at his wife and she shrugged helplessly. “Had I been right we would have visited the Cern together, had your mother been right the archives of the British Library.”

“Of course we didn’t think the two of you would still be single now,” Marie hastened to add. It did not make the fact much better. They had obviously started this bet when Mycroft and his brother had still been very young. Mycroft hadn’t wanted to see the Cern since he had turned ten.

“So, did you meet someone?” Charles asked with an impish gleam in his eyes.

Mycroft considered the situation. On the one hand, he wanted to deny everything if only to be petty. On the other hand, Mycroft thought he might enjoy getting to talk about Greg to someone besides Sherlock who didn’t leave a good hair to anyone. But in the end that just might lead to talks where Sherlock could hear and comment, and Mycroft highly doubted that he could convince his brother to keep Greg’s gender secret. After all, Sherlock barely remembered the man’s last name - why should he remember to talk about Greg as a woman in front of their parents?

“Not in that way,” Mycroft said with his patented indulging smile. “I simply have a new contact in the Met, who is surprisingly good at their job, considering the buffoons the Met usually hires.”

“Are you quite certain, Myke?” his father asked him, a sly smile playing around the corners of his lips.

“It would be quite delightful if you could bother to use my full name, after all you’re the ones who insisted on giving it to me,” Mycroft said with barely faked annoyance. “And yes, dad, I am quite certain that I’m not romantically interested in the DI.”

“Lestrade will be quite crushed to hear that,” Sherlock remarked, entering through the back door, grabbing something from under the sink and turning to leave again. “And why are you all in the kitchen, doesn’t this house have other rooms?”

Before anyone could answer Sherlock had already left again. Charles cleared his throat and left as well with a mumbled: “Someone’s got to decorate the blasted thing.”

This left Mycroft and his mother alone again. “So you really won’t fall in love with your detective?” Marie asked somewhat dejectedly.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m already very much in love, sometimes I think I’m going too fast.”

“What does Greg think about it?” Marie asked gently. “Have you talked about it together?”

“Not really,” Mycroft admitted. “We’re both quite busy with work and...we haven’t defined anything yet.”

“Then call her,” Marie said brightly. “Right now. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you. Ask her to meet you somewhere romantic and talk about what you feel.”

Mycroft laughed. “Gregoria is hardly the type for romantic meetings.”

“Oh, you know what I mean, Myke!” Marie said with some exasperation. “Go, call her, tell her you miss her. Tell her your parents are insufferable. Communicate!”

Mycroft raised his hands in surrender and left the kitchen with his laptop under his arm, taking it to the car (and locking it into its hiding place, where Sherlock wouldn’t find it). Then Mycroft turned to walk down the path to the sea, looking for the bench on the dune where he had often hidden after an especially bad school day or when the lack of intelligence of everyone around him had driven him away.

There he pulled out his phone and dialled Greg’s number.

“DI Lestrade,” Greg answered, his mind clearly elsewhere, and Mycroft had to smile.

“I do wonder when you’ll learn to take a look at who’s calling you before you answer the phone,” he teased gently.

“Mycroft!” Greg exclaimed, his joy palpable in his voice. It did of course _ not _ put a sappy grin on Mycroft’s face, he was far too controlled for that.

“The one and only,” Mycroft answered pleasantly. “How’s your day treating you?”

“No tricky homicides so far,” Greg said, his voice relaxing. “I caught up on some paperwork. How is it on your end? Did your family already despair you into isolation?”

Mycroft laughed. “Something like that. Mother shooed me out of the kitchen after being far too nosy for my liking.”

“Did she ask about anyone new in your life again?” Greg asked clearly amused.

“Of course she did,” Mycroft answered with a sigh. “And I finally found out why. Apparently, father and she have a bet going, who of us would find someone to love first. Mum thought it would be Sherlock, Dad thought it’d be me.”

Greg laughed. “Brilliant! What are the stakes?”

“A visit to the Cern versus a visit to the archives of the British Library,” Mycroft told him, amusement over the whole situation taking over. “They must have made that bet before I even turned ten.”

Greg spent a good minute laughing and Mycroft felt the corners of his lips twitch too. “I’m glad this amuses you so much.”

“Amuse me?” Greg asked breathlessly. “You made my bloody evening! I wish I could tell Sally, she’d never bitch about Sherlock being a cold psychopath again!”

The mention of Sherlock sobered Mycroft somewhat. “But there is something I have to tell you.”

“Oh, no, that’s never a good sentence,” Greg said, strain entering his voice again.

“It’s not that bad. I just...I told my mother about you but...I told her you’re female,” Mycroft admitted, blushing hard. “And Sherlock caught the tail end of a conversation where I told my father I could never be romantically interested in you to make certain that he didn’t win the bet.”

“So, to recap,” Greg said with a carefully neutral voice. “You told your mother that I’m a woman so she wouldn’t know that you’re gay and Sherlock thinks you could never love me because you were being petty.”

“That is correct,” Mycroft admitted tightly. “I’m sorry, Gregory.”

Greg was quiet for a moment. “Nah, it’s okay I think. I mean, if my old man was still alive I wouldn’t have told him about you at all, instead of pretending you’re a woman. But I understand. And that you’re petty towards your parents is nothing new. Even though Sherlock will be more annoying than usual now.”

Mycroft exhaled. “I truly am sorry that it turned out like this, Gregory. Are we still up for dinner tomorrow night?”

“What? Of course? Why wouldn’t we be?” Greg asked in surprise. “I’m not angry at you. A bit miffed maybe. But not angry. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, biting the tip of his tongue so he wouldn’t add a pet name. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“Alright, try to be patient with your parents, Mycroft,” Greg said, clearly smiling fondly. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Gregory.” _ I love you _, Mycroft added in the privacy of his own mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft and his parents are a frankly hilarious dynamic that we get to see far too few times on screen. I hope you liked this! Do you have anything you want to see in this universe? Tell me and maybe inspiration strikes! :)


End file.
